


Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

by zillah1199



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah1199/pseuds/zillah1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela wants to matchmake Anders and Fenris</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matchmaker, Matchmaker

“We're going to, wait, what?”

“We're going to fix up Fenris and Anders.” 

Hawke stared at Isabela. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It's perfect! They both hate everyone, they're both practically recluses and they're both two little bundles of angsty sexual frustration. Think of the sex, it'll be amazing! And it'll keep them too busy to moon after us.”

“How do you intend to accomplish this miracle? They hate each other. That's hardly a recipe for lust.”

“It's a perfect recipe for lust. And if there's anything I'm an expert on, it's lust. Besides, they don't really hate each other, they're lashing out at each other out of frustrated desire. I've seen it before. Trust me on this one.”

“Isabela...”

“Trust me, sweet thing. I'll have them crawling all over each other in no time.”

**That Night**

“Drunk?”

“Of course, love, we're going to get Fenris drunk. We'll stop by his place for a little socialising, get him nice and hmmmm lubricated and then send for 'help'”

“Fenris is always drunk when he's at home. Why would this make a difference?” Hawke cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, it will.” Producing a small phial, she popped open three bottles, dropped a bit of liquid into each one and handed them to Hawke. “Here get these corks back in for me.”

“What did you do?”

She smirked. “Just a tiny bit of...encouragement.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Relax, sweet thing, it won't hurt, it'll just put him more in the mood. This honey wine is sweet enough that he'll never suspect a thing.”

“You really do love living dangerously, don't you”

“Always. Now wait till he gets good and drunk, and go fetch our healer.”

“Wait, don't we have to drink this stuff, too?”

“That's the bonus,” she purred, nibbling at Hawke's beard. “Let's go, before Broody gets himself too drunk and passes out.”

Hawke didn't notice Fenris behaving any differently than usual as they sat by the fire, drinking and talking. The elf always got talkative when he was drinking. And Isabela always got affectionate. Very affectionate. Hawke started to wonder how long before she dragged him off and stripped him down. She had just began whispering some very dirty suggestions into his ear when Fenris stood up and shook his head.

“I feel...strange.”

“Honey wine is very strong, sweet thing, maybe you had a bit too much?”

“No, this is different. I feel...” whatever he had been going to say got lost in the shuffle as Fenris suddenly doubled over and vomited onto the floor.

Isabela leapt out of Hawke's lap. She guided Fenris back into his chair.

“Fenris, lovey, are you okay?” The elf shook his head and vomited again, shivering. “Get some water,” she gestured Hawke towards the stairs. Hawke grabbed a mug from the kitchen and filled it with cool water. He brought a damp cloth for good measure. Pressing it to Fenris' forehead, Isabela helped the elf to drink the water. “There's a good boy, that'll help. Fenris, love, you're on fire!' She looked over her shoulder. “Hawke – go get Anders!”

“I will be fine, I do not need a healer.” Spewing his stomach onto the pirate's boots and again all over his own leathers. Hawke ran down the stairs and out the door while Isabela wrestled the miserable elf out of his fouled clothes and into his bed.

When Anders got to the mansion, Fenris was sprawled sideways on the bed. He was naked and his skin looked flushed. “Hawke, Isabela, happened?”

Isabela shrugged guilelessly. “We were drinking, and then suddenly he was like this.”

“Go put some tea water on in the kitchen. Bela, bring me some rejuvenation potions from the clinic. Hawke, can you get me some soup and maybe some bread. I don't know if there's anything here, but maybe over at your place?” He glanced at the pile of clothing on the floor. “You might want to have those cleaned, as well.”

“Isabela will handle the clothes,” The rogue dragged Isabela out of the room, glaring significantly at her. “Kind of a mood-killer, don't you think?” he whispered furiously at her. 

She winked, unrepentant. “The night is young.” 

Anders heard none of that, he was busy with his patient. He touched the elf's forehead. “Maker, you're burning up. What were you drinking?”

“You have pretty eyes.”

“I..what?”

A throaty chuckle. “You have pretty eyes.” Fenris cocked his head, smiling up at Anders. “Do I have pretty eyes?”

“Are you seriously asking me this?”

Puppy eyes.

Anders groaned. “Yes, Fenris, you have pretty eyes.”

“Really?” Fenris wriggled along the mattress until he was looking upside down at Anders, reaching up to pull his face close.

“Of course you do, you sodding gorgeous elf, you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, now will you hold still so I can figure out what's wrong with you?” Anders touched Fenris' cheeks and checked his pulse at the throat. Warm, pulse a little fast, even for an elf. Dilated pupils. He looked around the clutter for the empty bottles and found one that had rolled half-way beneath the bed. He sniffed at the neck. Honey wine, strong, but that didn't account for the condition his patient was in. His patient, who was currently rolling around on the bed like a cat in heat. He saw some dregs still at the bottom of the bottle and shook it out into his hand. The faintest touch of bitterness underneath the heavy sweet taste. “Orichalcum.” He shook his head in disgust. 

“I don't feel good.” Fenris rolled onto his stomach and vomited over the edge of the bed. Onto Anders' boots. The mage pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. He went into the kitchen, leaving his boots by the door. The water was boiling. Pouring it into a cup, he added some herbs from a packet in his coat pocket. He poured another cup of plain, cold water. 

“Here. Rinse and spit.” the elf complied. “Good, now drink this.” Vomiting was probably the best thing Fenris could have done, getting the drug out of his system. He held the cup steady while the elf drank the tea down. Removing his coat, he slid onto the side of the bed, putting Fenris' head in his lap. “I can't do much about the hangover you're going to have, but I can help you feel better right now.” He smoothed the white hair away from the flushed forehead, gently stroking Fenris' brow and letting soft, soothing tendrils of magic work their way through the queasy elf's body. After a few minutes, Fenris rolled onto his side and drifted into a light sleep. Anders left his hand in the white hair, dozing slightly himself, trusting his magic to work without conscious direction. He couldn't do any serious work this way, but it was perfectly sufficient to ease a sick stomach and soothe flushed skin. When Fenris woke, he'd give him more tea.

Anders started at a slight noise. Hawke was standing in the doorway. “I brought your stuff,” he whispered loudly. Anders shushed him.

“Here, put it in the kitchen.” 

“Rejuvenation potions, soup to warm up for morning and some soft bread.” Hawke smiled, trying to look helpful.

“Good, thank you. Would you mind coming back in the morning with a change of clothes and some boots? And see if you can get mine clean?” He gestured to the doorway. “The wine was drugged.”

“Drugged?” Hawke's voice came out squeaky. “What?Who?When?How?”

“Danarius, probably. Or whomever this place actually belongs to. Bastards. There was orichalcum in the wine bottle. It's an aphrodisiac. I'm not sure if the drug was too weak, or the alcohol too strong, but it only seems to be having a slight effect, thank the Maker. I'd hate to have to peel that sot off of me to try and heal him.” 

“Oh, well. He'll be okay then?”

“Oh yeah, fine. Just don't ask him to go anywhere tomorrow and maybe not the next day. He's going to have the mother of all hangovers.”

After Hawke left, Anders took more tea into the room along with a small piece of bread. “Fenris? Wake up, this will help your stomach.” The elf stirred drowsily and allowed Anders to feed him small bites and drink a potion, followed by tea. Afterwards, Anders stretched out on the bed next to him. Fenris really was ridiculously pretty when he wasn't scowling or bitching about something. Anders stroked the fine white strands of his hair, a little damp from sweat, but still as soft as silk. His hand brushed the tip of Fenris' ear and the elf murmured, scrunching closer.

“Like that, do you? You really would make a good cat. Well, not a housecat, maybe a lynx or something.” He smiled slightly and ran his fingers along the delicate eartip. Fenris “mmmmm'd” and burrowed his face into Anders thigh. Fascinated, Anders kept stroking, behind the base of the ear, along the lobe, the tragus and back up into the elegant flaring volute. He'd never admit it, but he'd wanted to do this for a long time. He'd heard elves had sensitive ears and always wondered if the bristly elf might have a secret weakness. A throaty murmur and Fenris latched onto Anders' leg, wrapping himself around it and butting his head into the mage's hand. Anders kept up his ministrations until the elf started making a noise that could almost be described as purring, if it hadn't been quite so...sexy. He shouldn't have been surprised when Fenris pressed hard against his thigh and...growled, mouthing at the cloth over Ander's hips. Still, when the elf began humping his leg, Anders was torn between shock, guilt, and well, arousal. His hand was trembling, and he knew he should probably stop, but his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

“NnnnnGGH!” A blue flash. Fenris shuddered and Anders realised that his leg was now warm and wet. And sticky.

“Maker, Fenris!” He whispered, shifting uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight trousers. _'Andraste, if you ever loved me, don't let him remember this in the morning'_. He slipped out of Fenris' slackened grip and went for a wet cloth to wipe the semen off his trousers. He brought it back to the bed, gently wiping the elf's spent cock. “Alright, you broody little ear-slut. Let's get you into the bed properly, before something else happens. ” Tucking Fenris in, he settled onto the other side, glancing ruefully at the bulge of his own throbbing erection. He considered just taking care of the problem but he felt guilty enough as it was, he wasn't about to fondle himself with Fenris asleep next to him. _'Think of something unsexy. Vomit on my boots'_ No, that just led to a vision of a naked elf and finely curved ass. _'Rotten food, spoiled meat,'_ Soft chunks of bread and a dainty elvhen tongue eating out of his hand. His cock twitched, as if to say 'you know you want to'. Ugh. _'Darkspawn, giant spiders, the privy at the Hanged Man. Meredith naked!'_

That did the trick. His cock stopped making unreasonable demands and retreated sullenly. Anders sighed. "'Night Broody," he whispered and settling back against the headboard and drifting off. 

He woke to groaning. Fenris was sitting up in bed, holding his head in his hands.“What are you doing here, mage?”

“You were sick. Hawke came and got me.”

"Sick?”

“Yes. That wine you were drinking, it was drugged.”

Fenris glared, bruised, swollen eyes still managing to look deadly fierce. Anders swung his leg off the bed and grabbed the bottle. He managed to spill a few drops onto his fingers and held them to out to the elf. “Taste this.”

“Why?” the question was low and dangerous.

“Orichalcum. It's an aphrodisiac. It can be poisonous in large quantities. There's some in this wine. Not a lot, but I want you to taste it, so you'll recognize it next time. Before you drink three bottles of the stuff.” 

Fenris sniffed suspiciously then licked the tips of Anders fingers. He frowned, then pulled a face.

“That's it, that rancid aftertaste. Once you've tasted it you never forget it. If you open another bottle that tastes like this, don't drink it. Unless you want to wake up naked in a strange bed with a blacksmith, a boa constrictor and several jars of blackberry jam. And trust me, you don't."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I am naked. I trust you did not take advantage of my...condition?”

Anders clutched his chest dramatically. “Fenris! I'm wounded that you would even think such a thing. Besides, you were busy throwing up all over everything, including your clothes and my boots.” Hoping the elf didn't notice the slight blush or the twitch in his guilty, guilty hand.


	2. Too Much Ado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens (apologies to the Bard)

“And now you want to implicate me in your little artifice d'amour? No thanks, Rivaini, I like my internal organs just fine where they are.”

“Oh, come on, Varric, it's perfect.”

“I don't mean to say you're a terrible matchmaker, Isabela, but you're a terrible matchmaker.”

“What about Carver and Merrill? Those two got together because of me.”

“Those two got together in spite of you, Rivaini. They were crazy about each other from day one. It was bound to happen.”

“What about the time I 'accidentally' locked the two of them in a closet and pretended I couldn't find the key for two hours. By the time we let them out, Carver had his face buried in Merrill's neck.”

“Carver had his hair caught in Merrill's necklace from trying to get the door open.”

“Yes, well, he didn't seem to mind at the time.”

“Broody and Blondie hate each other.”

“What difference does that make? Besides they don't hate each other, they just think they do. And it's up to us to set them straight – it's like that play, the one showing down at the Curtain in Hightown. The one by Shakeshafte.”

“Don't mention that hack in my presence again.”

“What's the matter, Varric? Jealous. He's very popular, you know.”

“Please. You just like him because he wrote you those sonnets to try to get you into bed with him.”

“Mmmm, and it worked, too.” She sighed. “My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...”

“Well, if you think he's so wonderful, have _him_ write your letter. I'm sure he'll be happy to oblige. He's been pining after you since you left him for Hawke.”

“But it needs to sound like it's coming from Anders. Willy doesn't know Anders. You do.”

Varric's eyebrows shot up. “Willy?”

“Please, Varric?” Pouting lips and a generous display of cleavage.

“Fine. You're going to owe me. Big time. You do realise that Fenris isn't very good at reading yet.”

She waved the statement away. “Then he'll just bring it to Hawke to read it to him. And while Hawke is reading Anders' confession of undying love to Fenris, I'll be making sure that Anders think Fenris is in love with him. Look, I even stole a page from his manifesto for you to use. Just make sure you copy his handwriting.”

“Rivaini, I've never heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong. Well, except for Hawke's last trip to the Wounded Coast.”

**Later**

“Are you sure you planted the note where Fenris would see it?” Hawke paced nervously.

“Absolutely. I made sure their packs got tangled up on the way back from Sundermount, and a couple of things got mixed up. Including our little love letter.”

“Then why hasn't Fenris been by to have it read to him?”

“How should I know? Maybe he's better at reading than we thought. Or maybe...ooooh...maybe he's enjoying reading it. Really enjoying it, like hands in his pants and toes curling up enjoying it.”

“Isabela! That is not a mental image I need.”

**Meanwhile**

“erm, Fenris. I'm not sure I should be reading this.” Sebastian squirmed uncomfortably.

“It is too complex for me to puzzle out. And Hawke has been acting...strange lately. I do not trust anyone else to read it to me. Please.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Sebastian cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice steady. “ 'That blighted elf must never know how I feel about him. Maker knows I've tried to keep it a secret, but he's all I can think about. Falling in love with him has been a disaster, but I can't live without him. Even now, when I should be writing about the plight of mages, I find myself thinking of him.' Are you sure this is Anders writing?”

Fenris pointed to the reverse side of the page. It was titled 'Manifesto' and covered with random jottings, many of which were crossed out or edited over. Sebastian flipped the page over, then back. "Well the writing is certainly the same.” He cleared his throat again. “ 'But he must never know, his hatred of mages makes it impossible. If he knew of my feelings he would tear my heart out in truth as he has in spirit. Oh, Maker, I fear him, but still I love him. He haunts my dreams. I wake up every night aching for him, for the feel of his skin under my hands, the way his eyes burn when he looks at me. I want to take him in my arms and kiss every mark on his flesh, to wrap my legs around him and feel him deep inside me..' ”

Fenris snatched the paper out of the cleric's hands. “That's enough. I, er, I think I get the idea.”

“Ahem. Yes. Well,” Sebastian's face was beet red. “Well, Fenris, what are you going to do about it?”

“Do?” A dark eyebrow arched into snowy hair.

“Yes, now that you know.”

“Why would I do anything? Nothing has changed.”

“You could do a lot worse than Anders, you know. He's a good man.” 

“I cannot believe you are espousing the virtues of the abomination to me.”

“I may not agree with everything the man says, but he does good work in that clinic of his. The Maker's work, caring for the least of His children with no thought for himself. He spends all his coin aiding the poor and keeps only the bare minimum for himself. He works himself into the ground when he could easily indulge his own comforts. He is generous, kind and loyal to his friends.”

“He is an abomination.”

“Aye? Then tell me this, Fenris, why have you never turned him over to the Templars?”

And Fenris found he had no answer for that.


	3. That's What She Said

Anders was steaming about the conversation he'd overheard. So Isabella thought he was cruel did she? Contemptuous, even! What did she know. He was most certainly _not_ the type of person to mock someone who was in love with him. Even if that someone was Fenris, and he didn't believe for a moment that she was telling the truth. _'Hiding his tormented passion my ass'_ he grumbled to himself. The only thing passionate about Fenris was his hatred of mages, and Anders wasn't about to fall for whatever Isabela thought she was up to. _'Telling Aveline that Fenris is in love with me.'_ He huffed. By the time he reached the Hanged Man he was thoroughly aggravated. _'We'll see about that.'_ He stomped over to his usual chair and sat down.

“Evening Blondie. Ready for a good game tonight?”

Anders just 'hmphed' at him.

Aveline and Donnic arrived about the same time as Isabela. "So," Donnic tried to make his voice casual. "Fenris isn't here yet?" Anders pointedly ignored the looks Aveline and Donnic sent his way. _'Is there anyone the blighted wench didn't tell?'_

Isabela waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I expect he and Hawke will be along any minute now." Anders glared at the table.

When the last two arrived there was a bit of awkward seat-jockeying, as no one seemed willing to sit in their usual chairs. Anders snuck a glance at Fenris, who did seem a bit self-conscious. He shook his head and decided he was making a big deal out of nothing. Still, he'd keep an eye on the elf. Something was up, and if there was one thing Anders couldn't stand, it was being kept out of things.

Much to his surprise, however, he caught Fenris sneaking glances at him more than once. Not the usual 'I hate you' glare, either. This was different. The elf looked, confused, almost uncertain. There was definitely something different about his eyes. Even the expression on his face seemed softer than his normal scowl. His card playing was certainly poorer than usual. But then, so was Anders'. Was it really possible? Couldn't be. But something _was_ different...

“Boys, if this keeps up, you're going to have to write me some serious IOU's.” Anders just rolled his eyes at Isabela. She smirked at him and ruffled his hair. “Maybe I should extend you some credit until our next game?” And then she draped herself all over Fenris, nuzzling at his ear. Fenris flushed slightly.

Anders was outraged. First she insults him, now she's pawing all over Fenris. “Hawke, can't you keep her under control?”

Hawke shrugged, a rather helpless look on his face. Anders was so busy glaring, he missed the 'significant glance' Isabela threw at Hawke as she ruffled Anders' hair again. “Don't you worry, Blondie,” she giggled. “Hawke knows I never wander too far away.”

Anders 'hmphed' again. The nerve of her. Well, two could play at that little game. First he made a show of undoing his hair and shaking it out from where Isabela _(that wench)_ had mussed it. He combed it with his fingers, making sure to turn his head so that the lamplight made a particularly pleasing effect before tying it back again. Sure enough, Fenris flicked greedy eyes his way. A flash of triumph when he noticed Hawke had been looking, too. _'Take that, bitch.'_ Hmm, what now? He'd been picking at the fruit and cheese plate, and decided to put a particularly tasty bunch of grapes to good use. He plucked one and put it in his mouth, making sure to wrap his lips around it as sensuously as possible. He closed his eyes while he chewed it, slowly, and licked the juice from his fingers before taking another one. Sure enough, he could just see Fenris watching from underneath his fringe. He sucked on the second grape a little before rolling it into his mouth with his tongue. Smirking inwardly to see the faintest pink tinge spreading across the elf's face.

**The Next Night**

“My plan is proceeding perfectly” Isabela smiled wickedly.

“What do you mean? I haven't noticed any difference.”

“Honestly, Hawke, you can be so thick sometimes. Haven't you noticed them looking at each other?”

“Looking at each other?”

“Yes, _looking_ at each other.” Isabela's voice turned smoky and dark. “They hardly argue at all anymore, the used to stay as far away from each other as possible, but lately they've been much...closer together,” she moved forwards and toyed with the collar of Hawke's shirt. “They sat across from each other at Wicked Grace last night, and kept stealing glances when they thought no one noticed.” She smirked. “And when Varric ordered that plate with the fruit and cheeses, and Anders started eating the grapes.” She rolled her eyes and shuddered. “Fenris watched every single one he ate, couldn't take his eyes off of Anders' mouth. Oh, and the way Anders was eating them, and then licking his fingers clean after every bite. Ooooh, hot!” She was grinding up against him. “And while Fenris was watching, the tip of his tongue would dart out, just the tiniest bit and lick the edges of his lips, like he just wanted to take Anders into his mouth and gobble him up.” She flicked her tongue across Hawke's lips. He groaned and leaned into her, grabbing a handful of her ass. They moaned into each other's mouths, tongues battling for possession, hands grabbing at asses, shoulders and crotches. They pulled apart. Isabela laughed. “Race you upstairs?”

“You're on!” he darted towards the foyer “Loser sleeps in the wet spot!”


	4. Any Port In A Storm

“Camping? Really, Isabela?”

It's perfect, you, me, two of them, and only two tents. We'll set out tomorrow morning. Anders has been complaining he needs to restock his herbs.”

“It's going to rain tomorrow.”

“Exactly!” the pirate winked enthusiastically. “The rain will come down, we'll retire to our tents, and you and I can have delicious, wonderful, suggestively noisy sex all night long.”

“May I remind you how well your first plan worked? Fenris ruined your boots and you were so horny I ended up throwing my back out. We nearly broke my bed.”

“Pssht. I was just getting warmed up. And after a few minutes listening to us, they'll be getting warmed up.”

“And your second plan – we never did find out what Fenris did with that letter.”

“Hawke...” the beginnings of a scowl.

“Yes, dear. I'll pack the tents.”

**Early The Next Evening**

It was warm. And humid. After several hours of tramping around the Wounded Coast, they has several satchels filled with fresh herbs, and Hawke was feeling decidedly sweaty, miserable and unsexy.

“It's going to rain, Hawke, we should turn back. We've gathered enough herbs to stock the clinic for the rest of the year.” Anders voice had the edge of a whine to it.

“Nonsense, we never get a chance to just enjoy the great outdoors. It's a beautiful night.”

“We only brought two tents. And there are four of us.” Definitely whining.

“Come on, Anders, relax.” Hawke favoured the mage with what he hoped was a winning smile. The tents were set up and they gathered around the fire. They'd barely finished eating when the temperature plummeted and the air turned thick with drizzle. Hawke shrugged weakly as Isabela squealed and ran for cover. “Sorry, boys. You don't mind bunking together this once?” 

“I will sleep out here,” Fenris made no move towards the tent.

“You'll make yourself sick. You take the tent. I've got my coat.” Anders rolled his eyes. Stubborn elf.

“Hmph.”

The two of them sat there while the chilly rain drizzled into their clothes and slowly drowned the last embers of the fire. After a few minutes of sullen waiting, rain slicking their hair to their skulls and Fenris' ears drooping lower and lower, Anders had to grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. 

“Maker, this is ridiculous. I'll be in the tent. If you want to drown out here, that's your business.” He stomped off, leaving Fenris quietly dripping in the darkness. The drizzle outside turned to a downpour. A moment later, Fenris joined him in the tent, soggy and irritable.

“Here.” Anders tossed him a towel. “Dry yourself off and bundle up in the blankets before you catch your death.” 

They positioned themselves stiffly on the bedrolls, careful to maintain a clear line of demarcation between 'my side' and 'your side'. 

“Mage.”

“Yes Fenris?”

“Remove your coat.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your coat. The feathers are tickling my ear. Remove it.”

“Well maybe if you'd keep your ears on your side of the tent it wouldn't be a problem.” Anders huffed irritably, but removed the coat and pushed it out of the way. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and willed himself to fall asleep, something he'd been finding difficult. Elf ears. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was Fenris, the memory of the elf naked and writhing as he stroked those wonderful ears.

“I am wet.” The elf grimaced.

“So am I. We both are.” 

Silence. The tent was starting to get warm and stuffy.

He was actually starting to doze slightly when a long, drawn out moan came from Hawke's tent. His eyes snapped open. He waited. It happened again. “Oh, Hawke, oh, Hawke... OH HAWKE!!”

“Oh, Maker.” Anders grimaced. “Just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse.”

He glanced at Fenris. The elf was practically bristling with indignation like some sort of exotic porcupine. 

Groaning, moaning and gasping. Loud gasping, cascading into operatic wails. 

“You'd almost think they're doing that on purpose.”

“I suspect they are.”

“Fuckers.”

“Exactly.”

Anders pulled himself onto one elbow. “Was that a joke? Did you make a joke?”

“It has been known to happen.”

Blessed silence. Anders sighed happily and set about trying to sleep.

“Oh HAWKE!!”

“Oh hell, no.” Anders shot up. “Sorry about your mage-o-phobia, elf, but I'm not about to listen to this all night.” A burst of magic and the tent was suddenly quiet.

“What did you do?”

“Soundproofing spell. No noise gets in, no noise gets out. Very handy in...certain situations.”

“If you're going to be useful, you could do something about the wet. And the cold.”

“You're cold? It's an oven in here. How can you be cold?”

“I am from a much warmer climate than this.”

“You live in a mansion with broken windows and holes in the roof and you're cold now?” A headshake and a flick of magic. “Very well, your wish is my command.” The tent blossomed with warmth. A slight puff of steam as clothing and bedding became instantly dry. 

“That is better.”

“You're welcome. You know, Fenris, not all magic is evil.”

“I am aware of that. I am not, however, interested in one of your diatribes right now. Go to sleep.”

Silence.

“You know, most mages don't spend all of their free time plotting to overthrow the Chantry and reinstate the Imperium. We're really quite unambitious that way. No secret midnight cabals, no plans for world domination.”

“Good night, mage.”

“No thinking up newer and more nefarious ways to torture the non-gifted.”

“Good _night_ , mage.”

“Prosaic stuff, mostly. And creature comforts. Like that sound spell.”

Silence.

“Creature comforts?”

Anders squirmed a bit. “Well, dirty spells, actually.”

“ _Dirty_ spells?” Anders could practically hear the eyebrows raising.

“You'd be surprised how creative some of us got. Silence spells, grease spells, electricity. Oh, one of the senior enchanters came up with this amazing potion that was cold when you spread it on your skin, but when you touched someone who was also smeared with it, it turned into the most wonderfully, prickly warm sensation. It even smelled heavenly, like musk and roses. Or the one that was completely clear until it came into contact with saliva, then it turned different colours depending on the temperature of your skin. Hmmm...'tongue painting' was very popular that year.”

“So you are telling me you failed to conquer the world only because you were hindered by your own hedonism.”

“erm...sort of.”

Fenris sighed. Unbidden, the image of Anders, naked, colourful swirls adorning his body stuck into his head. He shifted irritably. “What did it taste like?”

“Hmm?”

“The... 'tongue-paint.' What did it taste like?”

“Strawberries.” Fenris licked his lips slightly, forcing his thoughts away from the line of Anders' throat and the curve of his collarbone, imagining it damp with liquid and smelling of strawberries. Golden chest hair beaded with droplets. Soft lips molding around bits of fruit, a flickering tongue. He rolled over onto his stomach to squash the sudden heat between his legs. ' _I will not think of this'_ Forcing his mind to consider mundane things and not ripe red fruit or the curve of a long leg over his shoulder. It took several minutes to clear that line of thought. Several minutes he spent desperately trying not to squirm. He put himself through a series of breathing exercises designed to calm the mind.

“Goodnight Abomination.”

“Goodnight Broody.”


	5. Perchance To Dream

Varric had once described dreams as 'your brain's way of saying “fuck you” to your waking mind, just before it tells you everything about yourself you never wanted to know.' Fenris wasn't sure if he agreed entirely, but some nights it certainly seemed that way. He was dreaming about the mage, Anders. They were wet - Fenris wasn't sure why - they were naked, and Anders was drying him, working a soft cloth gently all over his body, down his back, between his legs, back up over his shoulders and behind his ears. He felt himself leaning into the caress, murmuring happily. “Like that, do you?” The mage's breath was warm in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “Let me look at you.” Anders pulled back, setting the towel aside.

Fenris huffed. “It is cold.”

“Just a minute, Broody,” he made the word an endearment. “I'm admiring the view.”

“Come here, I am cold.” He pulled the human into his arms, wrapping himself around the other man, reveling in the feel of his body pressed close, the tickle of the other man's hair, the warmth of his skin. He snuggled closer and Anders rolled into him, enfolding him into an embrace of love and protection. He could feel the mage's breath ghosting across his hair, he could feel a hand curved around his hip, he could feel...he could feel...he could feel a hard cock pressing into his side. 

Fenris' eyes snapped open. They were still in the tent. He could still feel a hard cock pressed into his side. He had curled himself around the mage in the middle of the night, his arms and legs twined around Anders and they were pressed tightly together. Anders had wrapped his own arms around Fenris, one hand on his back, the other on his hip. The mage's head rested so that his cheek was against Fenris' head. He was snoring ever so slightly. He was also hard as a stone golem, his erection digging into Fenris' hipbone.

Fenris tried to wriggle away, but Anders only pulled him closer, murmuring in his sleep. A little worm of jealousy burrowed into the pit of Fenris' stomach. Was the mage dreaming of someone from his past, some sexual escapade? Was he dreaming of...Hawke? Slowly, carefully, the elf untangled himself until he was no longer holding the mage, although the mage was still holding him. He tried sliding out from under the arms wrapped around him, but Anders only stirred again, stroking his head and murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like “Sweetheart.” That bulge, that infuriating stiffness pressed against him twitched slightly, and he felt his own length hardening in response. He lay stock still, not daring to provoke the situation any further and occupied himself imagining all the different ways he planned to kill Hawke and Isabela before falling asleep again.

By the time they awoke, it had grown warm enough that they had rolled to opposite sides of the tent. Fenris tried very hard to convince himself that the whole thing had been a dream. An erotic dream about the mage. Just what he needed. He sighed, anxious to get back to his mansion. He was going to need to do a lot of drinking.


	6. Sunday In The Park With Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude

Chokedamp was causing a lot of illness in Darktown. Anders felt like he hadn't seen the sun in days. Sometimes he'd see what looked like a flash of white hair in the clinic that never seemed to empty, but it was never the one person he refused to admit he wanted to see. When he fell into bed at night he was too exhausted to think, let alone to imagine a warm body curled up next to his.

Then, early one afternoon, something white caught his eye, he turned to look, and Fenris was there, and no Anders' heart did not skip a beat, and his stomach was not fluttering like a schoolgirl's, it certainly was not. He was a grown man and a Grey Warden and he absolutely did not go all giddy at the sight of the most meltingly green eyes he'd ever seen.

Oh, and Hawke was there too. Looking very determined.

“Anders!” Hawke held out his arms in greeting.”Busy?”

“What do you think?” Anders raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked around at the clinic, which, while not as busy as it had been earlier in the week, was still fairly full of the wretchedly unwell.

“Great, let's head out and do some adventuring!”

“Hawke...”

“Oh come on, Lirene can cover for you. Please? It'll be great, Fenris is coming, and we can stop by the Hanged Man and pick up Varric.”

“Isabela's not going with us is she?”

“No, no, it'll be just us. You know, guy time!”

“Guy time? How do I let you talk me into these things? You can't possibly need the coin.”

“No, no it's just nice to get out of the city once in awhile. See the sights.”

“Sights?” Anders crossed his arms over his chest. “What, like Tal Vashoth, slavers, blood mages? Last time we went out to see the sights, I ended up covered in spider guts. You're a nobleman now, an important person. Don't you have better things to do?”

“What, you mean like attend elaborate luncheons until I'm so bored I'm ready to stab my eye out with a shrimp fork? While my mother parades debutantes in front of me, dropping hints about carrying on the family line? Do you have any idea what it's like being Kirkwall's most eligible bachelor?”

“Er, no? What about Carver?”

“He's with Merrill and elf children, even if their father is human, can't inherit a title. So that lets them out.”

“Why don't you just marry Isabela?”

“I've tried that. I've asked her a dozen times. She says that would spoil everything and she's not really the respectable type.”

“Well, that's true enough.”

Hawke lunged forwards. “I'm getting desperate, Anders, I don't think I can look at another tiny cucumber sandwich without screaming! Lady Darrington is coming by today and she's got four daughters. Four! They're all teeth and hair and going on about shoes and tea-gowns and mousquetaires and I don't even know what those are! It's safer out there, with the monsters and bandits! You think the Deep Roads were bad? They've got nothing on an army of society matrons with marriageable daughters!”

“Er, Hawke? You're clutching...”

“What? Oh. Sorry.” His hands were bunched in the front of Anders' coat. Sheepishly, he let go and took a step back. “It's been a rough week.”

“It's okay, no problem. Let's head out. I'm sure we can find something that wants to kill us.”

**Later That Afternoon**

“Maker's Mercy, Orana sure knows how to pack a lunch. Maybe you should marry her, Hawke.” Anders was lying on his back, eating an orange. Fenris, carving up a roast chicken, was trying very hard not to watch the juice dripping down Anders' chin, beading up in the mage's ever present stubble. 

“Don't say that where she can hear you, she'd probably die of fright!” Hawke laughed, digging through the pack for a bottle of wine. ”Besides, I think she might be a little sweet on Varric.”

“I'm telling you boys, it's the chest hair.” Varric patted his gleaming pelt.

“You always say that!” Anders licked his fingers clean then chased the drops on his chin with an outstretched tongue. “You're not the only one around here with chest hair. I've got chest hair.”

“Ho-ho, Blondie. I've seen your mangy tufts. You've got a long way to go to catch up to my hirsute glory.”

 _“I've_ got chest hair.”

“You've got a chest hair, Hawke, I'm not sure that counts.”

“Don't worry Hawke,” Anders patted the other mage's knee. ”You've got a beard. Beards are sexy. There's nothing like rubbing up against a magnificent beard to really get your blood flowing.”

“Yeah, try rubbing up against this, Blondie” Varric fluffed his chest. “That'll get you flowing....Fenris, careful with that knife, the bird's already dead, you don't have to kill it again.”

Fenris glowered all through lunch.

Some time later, Varric threw his satchel into the wreckage of a particularly fine meal. “All right boys, time to ante up. Let's see what you've got.”

Anders grimaced.”Okay, a couple of empty bottles, some more wet incense, and three woven bracelets. Oh, and four sovereigns. Hawke?”

“Hmm, a pouch of glass shards..ooh, hey blue ones...a frayed rope and two moth-eaten scarves. Varric?”

“Some spoons, another broken Rod of Fire, and polishing silks. Here ya go, Broody.” He tossed the silks over. 

Fenris chuckled. “I have a bottle of rotgut, a small bag of coins, and,” he paused for effect, shaking out a large bit of cloth. “A pair of torn trousers.”

The other men groaned. “Oh, Broody, you got plaid!”

“Andraste's knickerweasels! I'll never catch up. I'm still down three striped pairs.”

Hawke 'hmphd'. “I keep finding green ones. I did get that awful paisley pair, though.” He shook his head. ”Well, let's pack it up. I think we have our winner, and I'd like to be sneaking in the back door of my own home before it gets too late.”


	7. Mr. Sandman

**Hightown**  
It's one of those muggy nights that make it impossible to stay under the blankets. Fenris is sprawled across his bed, a trickle of sweat making it's way down the back of his neck. His hips twitch in his sleep as he dreams.  


_Feeding the mage oranges, squeezing them so that Anders has to catch the drops with his tongue. And strawberries. A bowl of them, sprinkled with sugar. He places one between between his teeth and the mage steps closer, so close, their faces are nearly together, to take the fruit, lips touching, a flick of tongue, pink and wet, as the fruit moves from one mouth to the other. Anders pushes him to his knees. “Suck me,” he says and Fenris takes the man into his mouth. He's hard, so hard and he tastes like strawberries and sugar, elfroot and salt. Fenris wants to take all of it in his mouth, leaning forward so that the round tip of Anders' cock is pressed against the back of his throat. Molding his tongue around the shaft, feeling the pulse of blood in the veins. His nose is buried in wiry tufts of hair at the mage's groin, full of the smell of musk and man and warm skin. The fuzz on his balls tickling Fenris' chin. Anders puts his hands on Fenris' head, lightly, and rocks his hips. Fenris chases Anders' cock with his tongue as it pulls out, then opens up to let it slide back down into his throat. Again. Slowly, achingly slowly and Fenris wants more, please, more. Lips over teeth as the mage starts moving faster, and Fenris groans, his throat vibrating around the hard length as he leans into the movement. He reaches down to his own erection and now the mage moans, hands fisting in Fenris' hair. Fenris is pumping himself hard, sucking the mage harder. He feels the sudden swelling in his mouth, the tightening of the sac against his chin. He's keening as the mage comes in his mouth, hot and wet, some of it trickling down his chin as he grips himself hard, spilling onto the ground between his knees, swallowing as his toes curl, his knees tremble and the only things keeping him from collapsing are the hands in his hair._  


Half-awake, he rolls away from a puddle of sweat and semen. He's giddy and lightheaded and drifts back to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of his own heartbeat, loud in the silent room.

 **Darktown**  
Facedown on his cot, exhausted, too tired even to pull off his clothing, sticky in the heat. Fingers stained with ink, one hand under his cheek, the other dangling on the ground. Somewhere in the distance the sound of water dripping, and the clunking of old metal pipes.

_The grey murkiness of the Fade, even in dreams, never sits well in Anders' stomach. It tricks the eye and fogs the brain. Like being seasick, in some ways. Nothing is ever quite right; up, down and side to side aren't as clearly defined as they ought to be. He's looking for someone, a face in the whispering crowd. White hair like snow in the mountains. Green eyes like the moss in a stream. Sebastian is there, and that seems odd, but they're in the Chantry now, and the Brother is angry, reciting the Chant as though it were an admonition. Now Fenris is there, too, naked, gloriously naked. Sebastian is not, he's wearing a dress, no, robes. The Grand Cleric's robes, and there's a suggestion of breasts underneath the cloth, and that's just disturbing, so Anders tries to look back at Fenris, but Sebastian's eyes are blue, blue like lyrium, burning like fire, and cracks open in his skin, the light of Justice pouring through._

_“You do not need him.” That deep, echoing voice, vibrating at the back of his skull, making his teeth ache and his head throb. Justice steps between Fenris and Anders. “You have a duty. He is a distraction.”_

_Anders wails in longing. ”No, I want this. I want him. I'm still a man. I can't go on like this forever. I don't want this part of my life to be over. Please. I must have this. I will have something for myself!”_

_Justice fades and suddenly, there is only Fenris, Fenris in his arms and they are both naked now, mouths meeting, tasting each other, kissing deep as longing, bodies pressed together and they are tumbling through clouds, through darkness, through an ocean of lyrium and burning need. Fenris' lips are soft, his hair is soft, but his body is hard, his muscles are firm and his cock is throbbing where it presses into Anders' stomach. He can feel it, pulsing, throbbing, just like his own need, his own stiffness. He takes Fenris in his hands, stroking him, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint tingle of lines pulsing under the flesh. He shivers and strokes and it's so good, he's wanted this for so long. His hand is full of slick and he pulls the elf down on top of him, they rock together, the pressure and heat building between them. He pushes down on Fenris' ass, hooking his legs around the elf's knees, driving them harder against each other. Lighting dances along their skin and someone is moaning. “Hush, love, the Templars will hear.” Fenris bites down on his shoulder and now he's the one moaning and it's getting louder and he's close, so close..._

Awake suddenly, and throbbing hard in his cot, almost at the edge. He shoves his breeches down, doesn't even bother to unlace them and grabs hold of himself, rutting hard into his hand, until he bucks once, twice, gasps and hot seed spills over his fingers and onto the flat of his stomach. Trembling in the aftershocks, too exhausted to reach for a rag, he falls back asleep, still holding himself in the thin grey dawn that almost looks like the glow of lyrium lines behind closed eyes.


	8. Over the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding

“They left us.” Anders glared, outraged.

Fenris merely grunted.

“I can't believe they left us here, so they could go shag that...that..smarmy Antivan. What are we supposed to do, stand here with our dicks in our hands and wait until they get back?”

“Apparently so. I suppose we could go back to the Dalish camp. They have an aravel waiting for us. I suspect Hawke and Isabela will be gone for some time.” A grimace.

“They didn't even invite us along!”

“Did you want to join them?”

“Pphtht. You been to one orgy you been to 'em all.”

“I shall take your word for it.”

“I mean it seems like it should be fun, right? There you are surrounded by heaving nakedness and it's like a body part buffet and you can have as many as you want. It just gets going and you're really starting to get off and WHAM! A stray knee in the face, your nose goes crunch, there's blood everywhere and the party's over.”

Fenris stared at him. “I thought you said you broke your nose escaping from the Circle.”

“Yes, well, I was on the run from the Circle at the time, so it's technically true.”

Fenris just shook his head.

Their aravel was ready with a freshly made bed a bottle of wine and two large bowls of stew.

Anders groaned. “Thank the Maker, I'm starving.”

The stew was delicious. When they'd finished, Fenris reached into his pack and tossed Anders an orange. “You said they were your favourite.”

Anders gave a happy sigh. “And so hard to get in Kirkwall. Did you save this from the picnic?”

“Mmm.” He watches the mage peel the fruit and eat, mouthing each segment and licking his fingers. Juice running down his wrist and sucking the skin clean. A particularly sweet section causing Anders to make blissful little moans. Fenris resolves to find a whole barrel of the things.

Anders took a long pull from the bottle and sighed. “I missed this. Not just getting drunk, but the taste of a good ale or a sweet wine. Even the swill at the Hanged Man. I miss being drunk sometimes, too. Not lurching drunk, necessarily, but that pleasant relaxation. The light floaty feeling. Especially when I'm having trouble sleeping. “ He frowned slightly.

“Your spirit is letting you imbibe more often.”

“Justice has been quiet lately.” Handing the bottle back to Fenris. “Ever since that...incident with Ser Alrik. That mage girl. It's almost like he's been hiding, somewhere in the back of my mind.”

A pause. “How do you know it is, as you believe, a benevolent spirit and not a demon?”

“Justice is no demon, Fenris, I told you..”

“Hush, mage. You misunderstand. I am truly asking you – how can you tell if a Fade creature is a spirit and not a demon? Could a demon trick you into believing it was something it is not?”

“Well, for one thing, Justice didn't make a lot of wild promises or tempt me with impossible things. Demons do that, they promise you the world; power, love, anything you want. Things you couldn't have any other way. A demon would have offered me the power to change the world with a flick of my fingers. Justice didn't do that. He offered me a chance to be a better person. A chance to make myself a better person. He showed me how much more I could be, but didn't offer it as a gift. He gave me a chance to do good. A chance to _be_ good.” Anders tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “It hadn't been that long that I'd been out of solitary confinement. A year of it. A year of screaming in the dark and talking to cats and rats and shadows and ghosts and thinking they answered back. With Justice, I'd never be alone again. There would always be someone to listen. And I could help him. He was my friend and he was dying. I wanted to save him. He couldn't get back to the Fade and he couldn't stay in the body he was in. I thought he'd be better with me than with haunting another corpse.” Another pull and a long pause. “It didn't work out quite the way I thought it would. I thought we could do great things together. I thought we could heal the world. Make it a better place. If he'd been a demon, he'd have offered to make me an angry god, setting the world on fire as I remade it in the image of my own righteousness. He promised nothing, and he gave me hard work, and a lot of failure. And in return I twisted him into something else. He was Justice, a pure thing. I made him angry and veangeful. Sometimes I wonder if I'm not a demon that corrupted him.”

Fenris tilted his head, studying the shadows that flitted across Anders' face. “You ask too much of yourself. You are only a man. You are only one man.”

“But change has to start somewhere. It has to start with someone. And when one man stands up and says, 'this is wrong,' then another one gains the courage to stand, and another. But it has to start somewhere. Someone has to be willing to sacrifice everything to end the suffering. So that no one else has to live through torture or rape or oppression. So that no one suffers simply for how they were born.”

“As mages do?”

“As mages do. And slaves. Like us.”

Fenris nodded. They continued to drink in silence for a while.

When the bottle was empty, Anders shucked off his boots and coat and headed for the bed. He groaned in delight as he climbed into it. “I can't remember the last time I slept in a real bed.”

Fenris tosses his armour onto his chair and climbed in next to Anders, nodding approval at the heavily stuffed mattress and finely woven sheets.

“I'll tell you one thing,” Anders gloated. “Wherever they wound up, Hawke and Isabela are definitely not sleeping on anything half as nice as this.”

“Assuming they ever get to sleep.”

Anders snorted. “True enough. Isabela does like to make things last.”

A worm twisting in Fenris' stomach again. “You have slept with Isabela.”

“A long time ago. Before Justice. I didn't even realise it was her, at first, when I met her again.”

“How many pirate queens named Isabela do you think there are?”

“Well, yes, but in my defense, she looked different back then. I think she changed her hair or something.”

“Did you sleep with Hawke?”

“Hawke? No. Maker knows I wanted to, but it just...never happened. What about you? Did you ever sleep with Hawke?”

“No. He does not interest me.” A long pause. “I did sleep with Isabela, once.”

Anders looks over at him, half-smirking in the moonlight from the open roof of the aravel. “Isabela? Really?” 

Fenris plucks at the hem of the sheets. “You have had many lovers.”

“A lot, yes,” Anders shrugs. 

“How many?”

“Are you sure you want to be talking about this?” A nod. “Actually, I don't know how many. I lost count a long time ago. I'm not even sure I remember them all. “

“Humans?”

“Humans, chasind, a few dwarves. No Qunari. Only one elf.” A half-smile and a shake of the head. “She was something. Had a real grudge against humans. Dirty shem, she called us.”

“Why would you have sex with someone who hated you?”

“She didn't hate individual humans specifically. Just on general principles. Besides, sometimes you've gotta love a good hard, knock down, drag out, fuck-you-like-an-animal banging. Very cathartic. She wouldn't let me play with her ears, though."

“Why so many?”

“Because I could. Because I was young, and it made me feel free. It was something I could have for myself; secret, stolen moments in the Circle and the joy of having no rules or restrictions when I was on the run. In the Circle, I had no control over my life. In the Wardens, it seemed like death was always waiting, right around the next corner. Sex, passion, it's how I knew I was still alive. But that was a long time ago. Since Justice, things have been different. There's been no one.”

“I do not remember if there was anyone before I was given my markings. After, there was Danarius,and he...” a shudder and a long pause. “Since I ran, there has only been Isabela.”

A long silence. 

“Do you see that star?” Anders pointed up through the opening in the roof. “That red one? In the Anderfels, we called that the Eye of the Wolf. The stars around it, that's Ensamma Vargen, the lone wolf. Right behind him, you can't see it, but behind him comes the constellation Jägaren, the Hunter. Every night, he chases the wolf across the sky, but he never catches him. The wolf is too fast, too clever. He always stays one step ahead of the hunter.”

Fenris smiles and leans his head on Anders' shoulder.

Cold feet suddenly brushing up under the leg of Anders' trousers. He yelped.

“Maker's breath Fenris, your feet are like ice.” He sat up and pulled off his socks. “Here, put these on.” 

Fenris glared at them suspiciously, pulling them onto his feet. Thick and fuzzy. He wriggles his toes. They really are quite comfortable. “Hmmm...this is..pleasant.” 

“And a lot warmer than bare feet. I can't believe you elves go on about having had such an incredibly advanced civilisation and yet you never came up with the concept of sensible footwear.” 

“Better bare feet than some of the ridiculous headgear you mages wear.”

Anders snorts. “You're telling me! You should the hats on some of the Ferelden mages. Incredible. It's a wonder any of them ever got laid.”

Fenris huffed. “I'm sure you did your best to overlook their unfortunate choices in haberdashery.”

“Why Fenris, you almost sound jealous!” 

“Of mages in bad hats? Never.” He grumbled and burrowed deeper beneath the covers.

“So you're not jealous of anyone then?” A bit of a pout.

Silence.

“Hawke.”

_“Hawke?”_

“You desire him. You are in love with him.”

“I thought I was for a while. You know how he is; when I first met him he seemed so confident, so larger than life. Then I saw how Isabela wrapped him around her finger. I dunno, I like a man with a little more backbone. I mean he's amazing against bandits and smugglers and stuff, but when it comes to romance, he's just so...wimpy. Okay, he does have the whole sexy beard thing going, but still.” Anders felt himself blushing in the dark. “I used to have this fantasy – I can't believe I'm saying this out loud – this fantasy where I was captured by Templars and he'd come rescue me and I'd show him how grateful I was.” Pulling the covers up over his face.

“Hmph. That will never happen.”

“I know, it was just a silly fantasy.” Anders rolls away onto his side.

Fenris spooning up behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest. “It will never happen, because I will never allow them to take you.”

Anders was absolutely not melting into a puddle of goo on the bed. He definitely did not have tears prickling at the back of his eyes. He pressed a kiss into the palm of Fenris' hand. “My hero,” he whispered.

Lips brushing the back of his neck. “Good night Abomination.”

“Good night, Broody.”

**The Next Morning**

“Awww, nobody's naked.” Poking her head in to see.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Isabela.” Anders climbed out of the aravel and shook his head, undoing the tie from around his wrist.

“Ooh, sweet thing, your hair is getting so long. Almost like you used to wear it back in Denerim.” She stood behind him, running her fingers through the loose strands. “Mmm, I like it.” Wrapping her arms around his chest and biting down on the side of his neck. “Maybe you should come home with Hawke and me some night.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, that was in another life.”

Pouting. “You used to be such fun. Hello, Anders! Is Anders in there? May I speak to Anders, please?”

“Very funny.” He scowled and stalked off.

“Venhedis, woman! Must you always...phaugh!” Fenris shot her a filthy look and followed the mage around the aravel.

“Dammit. They still haven't slept together.” Isabela pursed her lips.

“How can you tell?”

“No afterglow. And besides, they're dancing around each other like nervous bridegrooms. I don't get it. Between the two of them, they must have the worst case of blue balls in the history of sex. This is getting serious. Maybe you should try a love spell.”

“Those don't really work, Isabela.”

“Hey, what about the Black Emporium? I'll bet Xenon would have something.”

“Oh, perfect. Because nothing ever goes wrong with stuff from the Black Emporium.” Hawke rolled his eyes.

“How was I supposed to know that telescope would punch you in the face?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive me if my Swedish is faulty. Google translator ftw.


	9. Home Again, Home Again

“Spiders. Why does it always have to be spiders? I hate spiders.” Hawke pulled chunks of sticky goo out of his hair.

“We're only going across town he says, just checking an empty warehouse, he says.” Frowning, pulling webbing off the end of his staff and out of his golden ponytail. 

Isabela reached out and pulled some bits of off Hawke's robes. “Why would anyone breed giant spiders in the first place? They can't be natural, can they?”

“I believe they were bred by magic.” Fenris grimaced, pulling part of a hairy mandible from his vest.

“Ergh. If that's the case, I think I understand why mages are feared.” Isabela shivered. “No offence, boys.”

Hawke just shrugged. 

Anders was still cleaning his staff. “None taken. Anyone insane enough to magic small terrifying creatures into enormous terrifying creatures deserves to be dumped into the deepest, darkest pit in the Gallows. Preferably with a nice collection of their own experiments.”

Fenris hissed suddenly and they all looked up. Templars were hovering near Anders' clinic. Fortunately the group had seen them before the Templars saw Anders. 

“Oh, that's just perfect,” growling in frustration. “I had a lot of work I needed to get done tonight. What are they doing prowling around here?”

Isabela smirked. “Maybe we'll get to take Anders home with us after all.” She kicked Hawke's ankle, mouthing 'make them jealous' in his ear.

“Right. Anders. You should absolutely come stay with us. Much safer.”

“I think the abomination would be better off staying with me.” Fenris stepped between Hawke and Anders, turning his head to murmur, “Do you really want to listen to _them,_ all night?”

“You know, thanks, Hawke, but I think I'll stay with Fenris. It's, um, less crowded than your place.” 

**Later**

“It's huge.” Anders stood gawking. “I've never seen one that big.”

“I know,” Fenris gave a smug half-smile. “If you pump it hard enough it will fill surprisingly fast. The water is cold though.”

It was a huge, marble monstrosity, covered in gilt and inlay. It had it's own pump, separate from the rest of the water in the house. Anders gave an envious groan. “A bathtub big enough to fit into. Did you want to go first?” Hoping Fenris would say no.

“I will fetch some dinner. You may bathe first.”

The mage chortled with glee and started throwing his clothes off. He filled the tub partway and scrubbed the various spider bits from himself and his garments. He refilled it, heated the water with a flick of magic and sunk down into the water, sighing with joy at being able to immerse himself without knees or shoulders sticking out. He lay there, soaking blissfully until he heard the door slam as Fenris returned with food. Regretfully, he drained the tub and towelled off. He dried his smalls with a gesture and slipped them back on, taking his clothes to spread out by the fire.

Fenris was putting dinner on the table in his bedroom. Trying not to notice the mage's wet hair, clinging in tendrils around his face, or the droplets of water trailing down his back and chest, one caught, just there, in the hair above a rosy nipple.

“The tub is filling. Do you want me to warm it for you?”

“If you please. I have already washed in the sink, but I would enjoy a hot soak.”

He waited until Fenris had climbed into the tub. “Tell me when it's warm enough.” He raised his hand just above the surface of the water and released his magic. The tub was steaming when Fenris motioned for him to stop. “You, er, you missed a bit of goop in your hair. Want me to wash it for you?”

Fenris blushed, but nodded. Dipping his head back into the water. Anders kneeled behind him and worked soap into the soft hair. Fenris murmuring as the mage massaged his scalp, gently picking out bits of gore. Cupping his hands full of water to rinse the suds from the elf's hair. Fenris leaned back gratefully as Anders began working on his neck, digging thumbs into knotted muscles. He continued until Fenris shoulders and upper back were completely relaxed.

“Mmm. My thanks. Feed yourself mage. I will be out shortly.”

In the other room, Fenris had assembled a table filled with cheeses, cold meats, a large, warm loaf of bred and (Anders was absolutely not giddy) fresh oranges. A pitcher of ale, a bottle of wine and a pot mint tea. He fixed himself a plate and draped himself into a squashy armchair to eat. 

He was halfway through his second plate when he noticed a sheet of paper poking out from under the edge of the bed. He was looking at it, not really seeing it, when he realised something about it was familiar. He let it nag at him for a minute then decided he had to see what it was. Picking up he saw it was a discarded page from his manifesto. Why would Fenris have this? He flipped it over and his jaw dropped. 

Stunned, he sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn't believe what he was reading. 'That blighted elf must never know how I feel about him. ' It was definitely his handwriting, but he had absolutely no memory of writing it. Well, come to that, he'd written a lot of things he had no memory of, lately. 'I want his skin pressed to mine, I want to taste his sweat, his come, I want to feel him arching under me, hear my name cried out as I take him over the edge.” Yep. Definitely his handwriting. 

_'I'm in love with Fenris?'_ Where did that come from? Sure, he could totally get behind the wrapping his legs bit, and the, what was it, 'riding the burning heat of his cock' part, in fact his own cock was waking up and nodding in approval, but love? _'Am I in love with Fenris or is Fenris in love with me? What's going on here?'_

He was still staring at the letter when Fenris came in from the bathroom, wiping his hair with a towel. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, the pause stretching into an awkward silence.

“I found that in my pack. “”Fenris, I don't know what to say.”

Fenris dipped his head, looking up through his fringe. “I should have returned that to you.”

“Did you read it?”

“I...yes.”

“Fenris, I...I don't remember writing this.”

Narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that's been happening, recently. I have blank spots in my memory sometimes. I don't know if it's Justice or something else. I wrote, this, I must have written this, but...”

“Then it is not true.”

“I don't know, I'm not sure. I feel, something, I...I thought _you_ were in love with _me_!”

Fenris sat next to him on the edge of the bed. “Why did you think that?”

“Isabela, I overheard her telling Aveline.”

“Isabela said that.”

“She said you'd told her when you were drunk. Said you didn't want me to know, that I'd just make fun of you.”

“I found that letter the day after Isabela mixed up our packs.”

Silence.

“You do not think she...”

“Planned this? But how would she have managed to get the Templars to show up outside my clinic?”

“Hmm. I would not put it past her to turn an unfortunate incident into an opportunity. And she does like to play matchmaker.”

“That bitch! Oh, I'll show her a thing or two.” Anders crossed his arms and legs furiously.

Fenris rested his arms on his knees and looked at the floor. 

Anders looked sideways at him “So you aren't in love with me.”

“I have never been in love. How would I know?”

“You didn't love Isabela?”

“I loved her freedom, craved it. I went to her, after Hadriana. I wanted, I don't know, I was confused, numb. I wanted to feel something. I wanted to understand what it felt like to be free. I thought she could teach me. But she couldn't. It was not her, it was good, but...I became confused, I had memories that appeared in my mind, then left just as quickly. It was...upsetting. I told her it was a mistake and I left.”

“Was it? A mistake?”

“For me, yes. For her, who knows. I wanted her to teach me freedom, but I realised it is something that cannot be taught. It is something I will have to find for myself.” A long pause. “Have you ever been in love?”

“A long time ago.”

“Karl.”

“Yes.” His voice full of pain. 

Fenris put a hand on the other man's knee. “I'm sorry.” He paused, shifting awkwardly. “I thought...it seemed that you wanted me. I have thought of you, often, recently. Sometimes it seems I can think of little else.”

“Really?” Anders' cock perked up again. 

“Mmm.”

“I might have thought of you. A little. A lot. About your ears. I might just have a thing about your ears. And your eyes. And maybe your skin, and...” suddenly covered in elf.

Fenris' mouth was hot on his, their tongues working together, hands caressing. Anders rolled Fenris onto his back and mouthed at the long, pointed ears, licking them, nibbling at them, blowing softly around their edges. Fenris moaned and clutched at the mage's shoulders, dragging nails down his back, breath ragged. Anders moved down the supple neck and onto the lines on the elf's chest, licking, kissing, nipping. Fenris arched under him, pressing his hips up, gasping at the pressure. Biting and sucking at dusky nipples, licking the dip of a belly-button, pulling smallclothes out of the way and burying his face in the softest scattering of black hair at the join of Fenris' legs. 

Fenris groaned as Anders licked him, tracing the shape of his shaft, swirling around the head and back down, sucking his balls into a warm mouth, running that tongue back behind them, along the smooth line of skin and up into the soft hole. Fenris' legs were shaking and he clutched at the sheets under his hands. Anders sucked the whole of his length, head bobbing slowly, tongue working along the shaft and back down. He was groaning and pumping his hips when Anders pulled back, lips wet and glistening, quirked in that half-smile he sometimes wore.

“I want to feel you inside of me,” his voice was husky in Fenris' ear. He lay backwards, pulling the elf down on top of him. They kissed for a while longer, sweet, passionate kisses, Anders pressing Fenris against him, the intoxicating brush of skin on skin. 

Fenris ducked his head. “I have never....or if I have I do not remember.”

Anders gave that half-smile again. “Watch me, then.” A flick of magic and his hand was wet with slick. The caressed himself, eyelids fluttering, then began to open himself, sliding a finger inside. One finger, first, sliding in and out, his breath catching, teeth dragging on his lower lip, then two. He opens his eyes and Fenris is _watching_ eyes huge and dark, hands twitching at his sides. Three fingers. He groans a little, reaching deep inside himself. He lifts up his other hand. “Lick” he says.

Fenris moans quietly, pressing the palm to his tongue, coating it in spit, sucking each finger before lapping again at the flat of Anders hand. 

Anders hand, moving then, to stroke the swollen length of his cock, slick with spit while he twists the fingers of his other hand deep inside himself.

Fenris remembers to breathe when Anders reaches for him. Another flick, and something viscous coats his hand again and he's touching Fenris, coating his shaft and urging him closer with the other hand, fair skin against olive. He lifts himself a little and wraps his legs around the elf's waist, deftly sliding himself onto the well-coated shaft and Fenris gasps, clutching at Anders' hips. Fenris groans, his lyrium lines flashing. His head spins, Anders feels so tight around him, at once soft as the warmest velvet and firm, exquisite pressure beyond anything he had imagined. 

“Too much?” Anders was looking at him.

“No, I...”

Amber eyes glowing with mischief; Anders rests his head on his arms and _ripples._ Fenris gasps, and the mage does it again, his spine undulating in a long wave, ending in a delicious roll of his hips. It's a fluid motion, like a wave curling onto the shore and retreating and it feels _so good._ He keeps moving, that unbelievable, sinuous motion and Fenris begins moving to match, thrusting against the ebb and swell until Anders makes a needy sound, deep in his throat and reaches out to him.

A shift of a leg from around his waist to up behind his back and Anders pushes Fenris down onto him, and now there's nothing smooth or liquid about their movements, it's hard and powerful, Fenris pounding and Anders rising up to meet him, flesh crashing into flesh, the sound of the impact, the two of them grunting and gasping, breath coming uneven, harsh. Fenris buries his head in the curve of Anders' neck, his hand sliding down to clutch at the mage's hips, driving himself deeper. Sweat slicks their skin as they slide against each other, Anders digging fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and begging obscenely, cursing, swearing for Fenris to please fuck him, harder, like that, yes, Maker, it's so good, so fucking good, I need you to come inside me, I'm close, so close, fuck me till it hurts, oh Fenris, oh, Maker, fucking Maker, and Fenris can't remember why he ever found the mage's voice to be irritating, because now it's like honey in his ears and he wants Anders to never, ever stop talking. He feels the sudden spurt of hot and wet between them and Anders is thrashing, bucking hard into him, cursing in some foreign, guttural language and he's lost, the world shattering around him, blue sparks burning all through his skin and he's drowning in it until he collapses, spent and shaken while Anders pets his hair, kissing him and murmuring endearments.

They come back to themselves slowly, limbs entwined, hearts and breath gradually easing their paces. It's perfect and Fenris hopes they never need to move again, because it is perfect, the two of them, just like this. He's floating, somewhere between sleep and bliss when he feels Anders smiling into his hair. He tilts his head up and the look on the mage's face melts his heart, and they kiss, sweetly, like lovers. Fenris likes the sound of that word, lovers. He runs his hand gently along the Anders' cheek. “Te amo,” he whispers. The mage's mouth shapes the words 'et tu' and he smiles.

“I guess Isabela wins,” This much later, after they've dozed and kissed and fucked, no _made love_ , again.

Fenris chuckles. “I have an idea about that...”


	10. Know When To Hold 'Em

“Isabela, this is not working.”

“Hmph. I'll have them having their way with each other if it's the last thing I do.“

“Maybe you should just admit you were wrong and concede?”

“Hah! Never. My reputation would never survive. Hmm, I wonder who'll be on top? Fenris or Anders?”

“Why do you make me picture things like that?”

“Mmm, I bet it'll be Fenris. All that pent up aggression.”

“I hadn't noticed Fenris' aggression being particularly pent-up.”

“Anders has a lot of skill, but Fenris has that raw, primal energy. Still, Anders has that electricity trick. And Grey Warden strength. He's also very flexible.”

“Flexible?”

“Mmmm...I just love a pair of legs wrapped around me while I'm riding someone hard.” She climbed up into Hawke's lap and wiggled. “And he can do amazing things with his tongue.” Taking Hawke's fingers into her mouth and demonstrating, then wrapping around two fingers and sucking them into her mouth. She licks along the edges of his hand and nibbles at his thumb. Pushing her chest forwardsd he buries his face in it, determined to show her just what he can do with his own tongue. After a few minutes he can feel heat radiating where she is straddling his leg, wet through the layers of cloth between them.

They were very late for Wicked Grace that night. 

Even so, Isabela was ahead several hands before the night was halfway through. It helped that everyone else was already tipsy by the time she and Hawke arrived.

“Looks like you boys are losing,” she smirks as Fenris glowers and Anders stares at his hand in disbelief. 

“I can't believe this, I've never lost this badly before. Why did you let me drink so much?” A shake of his head and the mage threw down his cards in disgust.

“Hmmm, well, I'll forgive both your debts in return for a little...favour.”

“What, you need a salve or something?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a demonstration, of sorts.” 

“Demonstration...?” Anders' eyebrows shot up and Fenris' flew down.

“You boys kiss each other and I'll forgive your debts.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You know how I like to watch.”

“You have got to be joking!” “Not a chance.” Trying not to smirk.

“And here I thought the two of you were braver than that. Especially you, Anders, you used to be such a good kisser.” 

“Used to be? I'll have you know I'm a fantastic kisser.”

“I'd rather kiss Hawke's mabari.” Fenris sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh well, if you can't handle Anders' kisses, I guess that's okay. I remember them being pretty amazing,” Isabela rolls her eyes and sighs. “You don't know what you're missing.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? I can handle anything the abomination cares to dish out.”

“I'd like to see you try,” Anders glares a challenge at him.

Green eyes narrow threateningly. “Do your worst, mage. Impress me, if you can.”

“Oh, you are ON, broodypants.”Anders strides across the room and cups Fenris' chin in his hand. He bent down, the other hand on the chairback, leaning in until his face was just an inch or two from the elf's and stopped, amber eyes searching into green. He holds himself that way for several heartbeats, until the slightest pink flushes Fenris' cheeks. Lightly, he lets the barest flick of his tongue catch his own lips, pleased to hear the elf's breath catch and see the pupils of those endlessly green eyes dilate. He winks and sees the corner of Fenris' mouth quirk upwards, just a bit. He lets his tongue flicker out again and leans in, lightly running over the outline of Fenris' mouth, his lower lip, briefly touching to the corners of his mouth, the center of his upper lip. Fenris tastes sweet, the faintest remnant of sugary wine, making Anders a little giddy. He leans, breathing softly into the curve of Fenris ear, feeling the elf shudder, then presses their lips together, gently, his own slightly open, tongue withdrawn until he feels the elf return the pressure, mouth opening under Anders'. Tongues flicking out simultaneously, twining together, then alternating between probing and submitting as they explore each other's mouths. Anders sucking lightly on Fenris' lower lip, letting it drag against his teeth as he releases it. Fenris makes a rumbling sound, deep in his throat and reaches out, grabbing the mage around the waist and pulling him onto his lap. 

One hand _(thankfully gauntlet-free)_ grabs Anders' jaw, thumb and forefinger firm against his throat, just under the ears, as Fenris increases the pressure of the kiss, forcing Anders to yield, allowing the elf to plunder his mouth, biting at his lips, crushing them against his own. He lets go of Fenris' chin, bunching one hand in sleek white hair, the other still clutching the back of the chair. They lick and nibble at each other. Fenris is hard, and so is he, and he shifts his weight ever so slightly so that their groins press into each other. A murmur, Fenris pulling him even closer, the kiss growing ever more heated. Anders can hear his own blood pounding in his ears. A flicker on the other side of his closed eyelids tells him that the elf's tattoos are flickering, and he feels his own magic ripple a little in response. 

Leaning forward, crushing their hips together, forcing the Fenris to yield to his tongue now, licking the rim of his lips, feeling the pliant texture, the sweet wine taste of him. He feels fingers flexing and unflexing at the back of his coat as he nips, sucking at elvhen lips before plunging his tongue back into Fenris' mouth. The tension in the elf's slender thighs, muscles hard underneath him; the insistent throbbing of the erection pressed into his own. He groans a little, gripping the chair back so hard he thinks it might crack in his hand. Hips rocking slightly against him, upward pressure driving their bodies together maddeningly. Now Anders' thighs are clenching, knees pressed tight into the leather over Fenris' hips. He trembles a little as his jaw is let loose, fingers sliding down his throat, into the dip of his clavicle, then up into his hair. His head yanked back as the elf bites at his chin and earlobes before taking control over their mouths again. He lets go of the chair to dig his fingers into Fenris' hip, running his fingers up his back and dipping them down into the waistband at the back of the tight leather leggings. One last catch of teeth at his lips and Fenris pulls back, eyes half glazed, cheeks flushed as they lock gazes for a long moment.

Anders is suddenly aware of the dead silence in the room, which had seemed so noisy a few minutes _(had it only been a few minutes?)_ before. Everyone is standing stock-still, not moving, hardly breathing. Hawke's mouth is slightly open, Varric's eyebrows lost in his hairline and Aveline looks positively faint. Awkwardly, he clears his throat and struggles to stand, only to find his legs have no intention of cooperating. 

“Well,” said Hawke, shaking his head like someone waking from a trance. “That was...”

“Oh, look at the time,” gasps Donnic, tugging Aveline towards the door. “Sorry, must get going, early patrol in the morning, you know how it is.” 

“Do I ever,” Isabella, yanking Hawke out the door and down the hall. 

“I'm right behind you.” Varric glances back over his shoulder. “Lock up when you leave boys, I've got some, ah, business in Hightown. I'll be awhile.”

“Seems our plan worked.” Fenris smirking.

“Shut up and kiss me some more.” 

Fenris chuckles, infuriatingly, but Anders forgets to be annoyed when the elf begins crushing their mouths together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the original ending I wrote. I screwed up writing this fill because it went in a direction I didn't expect and it caused a bit of a kerfluffle. I will be re-writing the ending for the fill so it is closer to the OP's actual request. Meanwhile, here it is as originally completed for your reading pleasure. The alternate ending will be posted in kmeme.

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on kink.meme  
> So, basically, Isabela and Hawke have a pretty stable relationship, but they are both HORRIBLE matchmakers. They simply cannot go without trying to pair up their friends - and after successfully getting Aveline and Donnic, and Merill and Carver together, well, they start getting enthusiastic...
> 
> And decide that seeing as Fenris had a small crush on Isabela, and Anders had a big crush on Hawke, it's only fair that the two get together to knock boots - and, in Isabela's words, it would be hot as hell.
> 
> Except that while Fenris and Anders have reached the uneasy truce where they can spend at least half an hour together without spewing insults at each other, they are most definitely NOT interested in a relationship with each other...
> 
> And yet - in trying to combat the outright outrageous matchmaking attempts (that run the gamut from faked letters to locking them in a closet together), Anders and Fenris find a common ground. In fact, they do start becoming friends, and manage to see each other beyond "Mage" and "Mage Hater". Perhaps even to the point where Fenris understands some of Anders' points, and vice versa.
> 
> And the others? Well, the others are mostly just sitting back and trying to stay out of Hawke and Isabela's attention. Until, perhaps, they decide that Varric needs a date.
> 
> # Bonus points for hilarity.  
> # Double bonus points if one matchmaking attempt is foiled by Hawke and Isabela getting distracted by the thoughts of elf-on-mage sexytimes and end up making out instead of setting the trap.  
> # Triple bonus points for involving exploding closets.  
> # Four internets and a kitten for a hapless Sebastian getting caught up in the shenanigans against his will. Additional cookie if this happens to involve a dress.
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9086.html?thread=37812606#t37812606


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